


we could wash the world away

by witching



Series: you've been like a light [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Asexuality Spectrum, Banter, Chair Sex, Complicated Relationships, Cunnilingus, Finger Sucking, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Humor, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Light pain, M/M, Minor Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Minor Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), light spit kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: "Jon has to admit he’s heard rumors. He has to admit he’s wondered. He swallows hard, bites his lip, looks up at Tim and immediately loses his breath. Tim is watching him with rapt attention, thick lashes fluttering, lips parted and cheeks flushed, frozen in suspense.It hits Jon, then, that Tim is completely serious, propositioning him for real. A surprise, definitely, but not an unwelcome one. He could certainly use something to calm his nerves, and Tim is a good guy, a trusted friend, and Jon doesn’t doubt his ability to wring the anxiety from him like a damp cloth."
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: you've been like a light [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668694
Comments: 15
Kudos: 245





	we could wash the world away

**Author's Note:**

> standard disclaimer #1: i am a trans person but im not transmasc, i always try to be informed abt the experiences im writing and value the insight of ppl who know it firsthand. terms used for jons body in this fic: pussy, cunt, clit. terms used for tims body: cock, dick.  
> standard disclaimer #2: i conceptualize jons relationship to sex as a messy and complicated thing where the important factors are trust and comfort rather than whatever Attraction means. sex is fun and it feels good and jon does it when he feels like it.

_he gives me the holiday i needed all the time  
_ _maybe this is temporary, i don't even mind  
_ _love on the beach and the tide is high  
_ _moon in the water and the open sky  
_ _i just wanna stay  
_ _another night, another day  
_ _we could wash the world away_

_// carly rae jepsen, 'now i don't hate california after all'_

* * *

The thing they never tell you about worms boring into your flesh is – well, all of it, nobody really tends to warn for this eventuality at all. But the part that Jon was least prepared for, the part that's really getting to him now, is the way every single movement seems to exacerbate the pain in one way or another.

Perhaps this is causing a bigger issue than strictly necessary, because Jon is patently incapable of sitting still. He braids his hair and unbraids it four times. He paces and counts ceiling tiles. He picks at the already-frayed edges of his bandages. He gets hot enough to strip down to his drawers, then cold enough to dress again, several times over. He's just about to consider doing some yoga when Tim walks in, blessedly interrupting the monotony and restlessness.

The trade-off for the distraction is that Jon is mostly naked, and Tim doesn’t seem thrown by it in the least. Jon, however, is painfully, shamefully aware of it, his skin prickling under Tim’s gaze. Tim isn’t staring, of course, but neither is he making a point to avoid staring, so Jon feels rather exposed.

"Hey," Tim murmurs, closing the door behind him before walking over and gingerly taking a seat on the edge of Jon's flimsy cot. "How you holding up?"

"Mm," Jon hums noncommittally. "Alright, I suppose. In pain, but that's kind of – unavoidable, given the series of holes in my body where holes… shouldn’t be."

"Yeah, same here.”

“Are you – I mean, are we allowed to be near each other right now?” Jon asks, a concerned wrinkle forming between his brows. “Thought we were quarantined.”

Tim nods and waves a hand in the direction of the hall, where the ECDC people are still milling about, looking all official. “I talked to them. They just sealed off the whole archives for now,” he explains, grumbling a bit. “So we’re free to roam around our cage, but we can’t leave until they clear us.”

“Ah,” says Jon. “And you came in here because…?”

“Bored. Alone. Wanted to check in on you, maybe commiserate a bit.” Tim leans back, shifts his sitting position, bringing his thigh flush against Jon's. 

The contact sets off alarms in Jon's mind, a cacophony of _too close too close too close_ that makes his chest constrict painfully. He was hot a few minutes ago, he remembers only because of his current state of undress, but now he feels cold all over except for the burning swath of skin pressed against Tim's grey joggers. That area of his thigh is on fire.

He stands from the cot abruptly, making his head swim, and moves awkwardly to take a seat in the large office chair against the wall instead. Pulls his feet up on the seat with him and hugs his knees to his chest. It feels safer. It also hurts, pulling at his sores in odd ways, but it's better for him nonetheless.

Tim, on the other hand, looks remarkably less comfortable than moments earlier. He frowns, his brows pulling up and together with a little crease between them, looking at Jon with pleading eyes. 

“Jon?” he asks, sounding almost timid, not like himself at all. “You okay? Did I do something?”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Jon assures him in an unconvincing rush. “Just a bit, erm, jumpy, I guess. Jittery. Can’t calm down.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, long enough that Jon fears he’s really hurt Tim’s feelings. He’s just considering how to properly apologize for his behavior when Tim says, almost inaudibly, “Want some help with that?”

“What?”

“I asked,” Tim whispers roughly, “if you want some help with that.”

“What does that mean?” Jon asks.

Tim clears his throat; when he speaks again, it’s with a great deal more confidence. “You know me, Jon. I have been known to knock out much stronger men than you with my notorious sexual prowess.”

And, well. Jon has to admit he’s heard rumors. He has to admit he’s wondered. He swallows hard, bites his lip, looks up at Tim and immediately loses his breath. Tim is watching him with rapt attention, thick lashes fluttering, lips parted and cheeks flushed, frozen in suspense.

It hits Jon, then, that Tim is completely serious, propositioning him for real. A surprise, definitely, but not an unwelcome one. He could certainly use something to calm his nerves, and Tim is a good guy, a trusted friend, and Jon doesn’t doubt his ability to wring the anxiety from him like a damp cloth.

“Oh,” he says, half air and all wonder. “Y-yeah, I’d like that… if you’re offering.”

"Yeah, I'm offering," Tim murmurs, standing from the cot in one fluid motion and taking the two long strides necessary to reach the chair where Jon is sitting. "You want me to… you know, I don't even know where to start."

Jon feels a ball of warmth and courage expand inside his chest, filling him so completely that he couldn't keep the words from spilling out even if he wanted to. "Kiss me?" he says, halting and quiet, and Tim takes one second too long to respond, so he babbles on, "I mean, only if you want to, you know. It's just, I think people generally do that? But we don't – _have_ to."

There's a lot more nervous energy brewing inside him, a nearly infinite reserve ready to transform into nonsensical rambling at a moment's notice, but luckily he doesn't need to use it. Tim swoops in, descending on him like a hawk, and kisses him, all clever tongue and crafty teeth and stolen breath. 

Jon melts into it, wrapping a hand around the back of Tim's head and pulling him in, fingertips digging into the nape of his neck. He needs to be sure that Tim is here, that he's solid and real, and that means holding onto him, perhaps a bit too tightly but Jon can't seem to care. 

For what it's worth, Tim doesn't mind it either. He relishes it, gasping at the first painful press and squeeze of Jon's hand, leaving his mouth open for Jon to do with as he pleases. And for all his nervous stammering and inexperience, Jon is a shockingly good kisser. 

Tim's hands start on Jon's shoulders, but quickly slide up to cup his cheeks, firm but gentle. Jon whimpers softly at the pressure against his fresh wounds, but then he drops his knees from his chest, brackets Tim's waist with them instead, cranes his neck to push forward into Tim's mouth, and forward and forward, never satisfied. All his eagerness and enthusiasm goes straight to Tim's core.

He pulls back from the kiss, lips slick and red. "Mind if I even the playing field a bit?" he pants, still close enough that his lips brush Jon's as he speaks.

Jon is about to ask what, exactly, that entails, but Tim decides in favor of a practical demonstration. He takes a small step back, just far enough to give him some wiggle room, and then grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head. It's a smooth move, charming in spite of the wince and light hiss at the jostling of his wounds. He sets his shirt off to the side and moves to shimmy out of his sweatpants as well, making a show of it. It's a good show, and Jon leans back in his seat and enjoys it.

When Tim slips the waistband of the joggers down past the curve of his ass, it becomes quickly apparent to Jon that he isn't wearing anything underneath. Jon's mouth goes dry and he reflexively reaches out to touch, grazing Tim's hip ever so lightly with the tips of his fingers. He's so beautiful, is the thing, tanned and toned and bandaged – why are bandages hot, all of a sudden? Jon doesn't have time to explore that line of thought.

Tim is just standing there, not an ounce of self consciousness, looking down at Jon with a muted heat in his eyes. Jon thinks it's the sexiest thing in the world, but then Tim sinks to his knees and settles his hands on Jon's thighs, at least the areas uncovered by bandages, long fingers splayed out across his skin, and that is _way_ sexier. 

Those fingers walk up his thighs to the waistband of his boxer briefs, slip just under the elastic, and Tim looks up at his face, open and imploring. "Can I go down on you?"

Jon can do nothing but nod, barely breathing through his slightly parted lips. Tim tugs at his waistband again, this time with intent, and Jon shifts his hips up to allow Tim to undress him completely. 

"Fuck," Tim mutters under his breath, eyes fixed on the thatch of dark curls between Jon's legs. He licks his lips instinctively, his mouth watering, and nudges Jon's knees apart with his hands, shuffling forward to slot himself in the newly created space. “You sure you want this?”

If Jon wasn’t sure before, then the sight of Tim looking up at him from between his spread legs, the warmth of his breath ghosting across Jon’s skin – that would definitely do it. “Yes, I’m sure,” he states, his voice low and rough.

Tim smiles, slow and easy, and trails fingers up Jon’s calves with a teasingly light touch, still making a point to skirt around the bandages. He gives a thoughtful hum before cocking his head to the side and musing, “I think I’m going to need you to ask nicely.”

For a moment, Jon just stares, balks at the notion, and then he processes it a bit and his face heats up. He’s not… well, if he did things like this often enough that he could be said to have habits, then being _submissive_ wouldn’t be one of those habits. But he rarely engages with other people in this way, and doing it with Tim is wildly unprecedented. Plus, he needs to get out of his head, and what better way to do that then to let Tim take the reins?

Still, it’s _mortifying,_ so his first attempt at speaking is something of a breathless squeak, certainly not a comprehensible word. He clears his throat, bites his lip, takes a deep breath, tries again. “Please.”

“Come on, boss,” Tim drawls. “Please _what?”_

“Tim-will-you-please-eat-me-out,” Jon mutters, low and quick.

Tim grins like a cat, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist to pull him in with a hand on the small of his back, closer until he’s perched on the front half of the seat. Tim hums appreciatively as Jon spreads his thighs further to accommodate him.

“Anything I should avoid, things I shouldn’t say? Things I _should_ say?” Tim asks, glancing up at Jon’s face as his hand travels up Jon’s thigh. “Or would you prefer not to talk about it at all?”

When Jon gets Tim’s meaning, he shrugs nonchalantly. “It doesn’t really matter to me,” he says, then hums thoughtfully. There’s no indication in his voice that he’s embarrassed or flustered by the subject matter when he adds, “I guess I’d usually default to cunt, but I also like pussy.”

“You know what, me too,” Tim replies quick as a whip, a mischievous sparkle in his smile. Jon groans at that, rolls his eyes, so Tim jumps to defend himself. “Hey, you left that one wide open. I couldn’t _not_ take advantage.”

“Yes, alright,” Jon sighs, long-suffering and fond, “but there are better things I’ve left _wide open_ for you to _take advantage of,_ Tim.”

“Damn, that’s a good one,” mutters Tim, impressed. “You’re demanding, aren’t you? Guess I’d better give you what you want, before you get all grumpy on me.”

Jon hums in agreement, opens his mouth to say something along the lines of _I’ll show you grumpy,_ but ends up unable to form the words as Tim buries his face between his legs. He tenses in response to the sensation, squeezing Tim’s sides with his knees, one hand lifting shakily to stroke his hair.

For all his teasing, Tim doesn’t waste time taking him apart once he gets down to it. He licks small circles around Jon’s clit before dragging the flat of his tongue up against it, smiling as Jon’s fingers tighten in his hair, tugging gently. Tim knows from experience this is usually the leadup to the part where his partners get eager, so he preemptively moves his hands up to Jon’s hips, holding him firmly.

It turns out it was none too soon, because the next swipe of his tongue makes Jon cry out and arch his back, valiantly trying to buck his hips against the strength of Tim’s grip. He exhales a small sound of amusement against Jon’s cunt and flicks his eyes up to look at Jon’s face through the thick veil of his lashes. 

His face is screwed up in pleasure, eyes closed and jaw slack, head tipped back and exposing the long column of his throat, sallow and pocked with wounds. Tim imagines putting a different kind of mark on Jon’s skin, writing new memories over the horror while it’s still fresh. He makes a mental note to dedicate some time later to sucking Jon’s neck.

For now, though, he focuses his attention on sucking Jon’s clit. He uses long, slow pulls of his lips, suction almost painfully stimulating the sensitive nerves, drawing several gasping, whining moans from deep in his chest.

They’ve always been friends, since the day after they met. The moment Tim saw Jon’s grumpy face on his first day back in research, he decided _that_ was the one he liked. There was always one person, when Tim started a new job, that he fixated on as a subject of interest, platonic or sexual or romantic or all of the above, and Jon was the one at the Institute who caught his eye immediately.

While Tim was able to win Jon over faster than anybody had managed before or since, he hasn’t made as much progress in the intervening time in service of pulling Jon out of his shell. He’s had more luck with Martin in the few months they’ve been sleeping together than he’s had with Jon in three years of knowing him. 

Which is all to say that it’s extremely gratifying to hear Jon make those noises, to know that he’s causing them, that he’s making Jon fall to pieces with his tongue and Jon can’t hold back how good he’s making him feel. It’s something of an achievement for Tim, and one he’s rather proud of, to reduce stoic, deadpan Jonathan Sims to a whining mess. He licks a path from Jon’s hole up to his clit, cataloguing his answering moan for later reminiscence.

That’s all coming from the part of Tim that feels smug about his sexual talents; the other part of him is reveling in the intimacy of it all, the trust Jon’s placed in him as his friend. The fact that he’s letting Tim see him like this, touch him like this, taste him like this, and he’s letting Tim hear his unbridled reactions. 

Any way you slice it, Tim is very pleased to be where he is. Whether it’s an effect of his irresistible charm or a sincere moment of vulnerability for Jon or some combination of the two, he’s quite content to bask in it until he makes Jon come. Maybe more than once.

Turns out it doesn’t take long for him to tip over the edge, fingers twisted tightly in Tim’s hair as Tim’s tongue fucks shallowly inside his cunt. Jon cries out, a broken, strangled thing, and grinds down against Tim’s mouth as best he can, Tim’s upper lip rubbing his clit just perfectly as he shakes through his orgasm.

Tim laps enthusiastically at his cunt until Jon’s grip on his hair suddenly tightens painfully before slackening entirely in response to the stimulation. He pulls back and stares up at Jon breathlessly, his mouth slick and his cheeks flushed.

Now when Tim licks his lips it’s deliberate, a slow and theatrical move followed by a soft groan of indulgent pleasure at the lingering taste. Jon watches him the whole time, a shiver running through him in reply to the sound he makes.

“Come here,” Jon murmurs roughly, making grabby hands for Tim to stand and join him. It’s so adorable, Tim couldn’t resist if he wanted to, so he rises to his feet before climbing on Jon’s chair, straddling his lap and kissing him.

Jon cringes slightly at the pressure on his wounds, but ultimately gets over it, leans into the contact. He wraps his arms around Tim’s neck, prompting a similar wince from him, which he similarly ignores in favor of deepening the kiss. 

Jon’s tongue is soft and hot and he licks messily at Tim’s lips, then around his mouth, and it takes Tim a moment to catch on to the fact that he’s licking his own juices from Tim’s face, which is just _amazing,_ far sexier than should be allowed. Tim moans, the noise all high and open, and Jon repays him by nipping playfully at his chin.

“Fuck, Jon,” Tim gasps, unthinkingly grinding down into his lap in search of some sort of stimulation. “Fuck, touch me, please.”

“What do you want?” asks Jon, earnest and tender. “What can I do for you?”

“Just –,” Tim cuts himself off with a whine, reaching for Jon’s hand on his neck and guiding it to his lips. He takes two of Jon’s fingers in his mouth without hesitation, his eyes fluttering closed and a pleasured sigh escaping him as he swirls his tongue around and between them, wetting them thoroughly. 

When he’s satisfied – or as close as he can get, given that he’d be happy to suck on Jon’s fingers for hours without any other end in mind – he pulls Jon’s hand from his mouth with a soft, wet pop. A strand of saliva connects Jon’s fingertip to Tim’s lower lip, breaking only when Tim moves Jon’s hand down below his waist.

His cock is swollen and hard, sticking out from between his folds, and Tim gasps when Jon’s wet fingers make contact, then finally tries again to answer Jon’s question. “Just _touch_ me. You can – rub my dick, that’ll do it,” he pleads, his voice wrecked and desperate. “Trust me, it won’t take much.”

Nodding and humming his understanding, Jon keeps his gaze locked on Tim’s face as he begins to rock his hand in slow, testing motions against him. Jon’s eyes are sparkling with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, studying Tim and all his reactions, every minute twitch of his face and catch of his breath.

“Yeah, fuck, like that,” Tim groans, shifting his hips and grinding down on Jon’s hand. “S’good, Jon, so fucking good, you’re so good.”

Jon just smiles at that, holding Tim’s cock between two fingers and stroking up the length of it, watching the way Tim’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp of pleasure. But then, Tim never can stay silent for long; he takes a gulp of air and places his hands on Jon’s shoulders to steady himself before speaking again.

“God, that feels so nice,” he says, breaking off with a high whine. “You’re doing so well, Jon, touching me just right, I’m so close. Fuck, fuck, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, want to come on your hand, want to –,”

His babbling is abruptly cut off when Jon moves to cup his cheek with his free hand, brushing his thumb against Tim’s lower lip. Tim freezes for half a second, then makes a punched-out sound and opens his mouth further to let Jon in. Jon takes the opportunity, presses his thumb into Tim’s mouth, and Tim doesn’t hesitate to close his lips around it and suck enthusiastically, like it’s the only thing in the world that matters.

Jon’s other hand is still working his cock, and Tim’s reactions are reflexive now, short stutters of his hips to increase contact, the rhythm and the purpose of his movements thrown out in light of having something in his mouth. He lets out wanton little whimpers around Jon’s thumb, his eyes sliding shut as he loses himself in the sensations. 

It’s only a short minute later when Tim comes, bowing his back and moaning shamelessly. Jon revels in it, the taut lines of Tim’s body and the rapturous look on his face, and pets his tongue lightly with the pad of his thumb. Tim opens his mouth wide for him in invitation, and Jon keeps stroking his cock until Tim tenses and whimpers from overstimulation before going limp and collapsing into him with a sigh. 

They sit like that for a long moment, catching their breath; Jon moves to wrap his arms around Tim’s waist while Tim shifts to support most of his weight on his knees on either side of Jon’s lap rather than crushing him. He leans in, though, as much as he can, pressing against Jon’s skin and savoring the feeling.

Eventually, Jon breaks the comfortable silence. “Does it always go like this with you?” he asks with half a breathless chuckle, resting his forehead on Tim’s shoulder. 

Tim runs a hand through his hair, an answering laugh rumbling in his chest. “Not quite, no,” he murmurs. “For starters, I’m usually not the one who ends up babbling and begging.” Excepting quite a few times with Martin, which Tim thinks Jon doesn’t really need to hear about, especially not at this exact moment. “Plus, it normally hurts a lot less.”

Jon places gentle fingers on Tim’s bicep, his eyes glued to the spot where their skin is in contact, a small strip of Tim’s arm right between two thick white bands of gauze around his wounds. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, frowning deeply.

“Don’t be, it was good,” Tim soothes, and then hesitates, tenses a bit. Jon hears the gulp in his throat, and his voice is softer, his words less sure when he adds, “For me, at least.”

“No, it was good for me as well,” Jon assures him hastily.

A slow, easy grin settles on Tim’s face. He leans in close, brushes a feather-light kiss over Jon’s eye, and speaks against his skin, a breath of a whisper. “Then I suppose we’re at – whatever the opposite of an impasse is.”

Squeezing his arms around Tim’s middle, Jon laughs into his chest, then pulls back apologetically when Tim hisses in pain. “I believe that would be an agreement, Timothy.”

“Right,” Tim agrees, either missing or ignoring the teasing. “Suppose we’re in agreement about the experience.”

“But…”

“But what?”

Jon looks up at Tim’s face, clears his throat. Tim looks down and meets his eyes, his lower lip jutting out slightly in a confused little pout. It makes Jon’s stomach hurt, to think about what he’s going to say next, but he has to say it.

“I mean, we can’t – you know,” he tries to explain, but quickly finds that the intensity of Tim’s puppy eyes is overwhelming. He has to look away shamefully before continuing. “This can’t… happen again.”

Tim blinks. Furrows his brow. Blinks again. “Sure. Why not, though?”

Screwing his eyes shut tightly, Jon takes a moment to wish he couldn’t hear Tim’s heartbeat speeding up. In fact, he wishes more than anything that his ear wasn’t pressed so close to Tim’s bare chest, that he couldn’t feel the heat rolling off Tim’s skin in waves, that he couldn’t smell the remnants of sex and disinfectant and the deep-set spice of his deodorant.

"I'm your boss, Tim,” he mutters, trying not to sound bitter about the fact. It’s just one of several reasons he can think of that make this unequivocally a bad idea. “It's not… it would be unethical."

"What, like you're taking advantage of me? Fat chance,” Tim snorts. _“You_ should go to HR, actually, tell them how I promised to help you calm down and then you ended up doing more work than me. It’s a disgrace, is what it is.”

Jon groans at Tim’s flippant attitude, fixes him with a look halfway between exasperated and pleading. "You know what I mean. In a professional environment –"

"One where we get eaten by worms, you mean –"

 _"In a professional environment,"_ Jon repeats with a pointed emphasis, "this type of relationship is unsustainable."

Throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Tim glosses right over the question of what type of relationship this is, exactly. That’s not an issue that either of them would prefer to examine at this precise point in time. He chooses instead to appease Jon, at least for now. "Alright, Jon. I understand."

And Jon should take it while he can, quit while he’s ahead, but he has this awful habit of putting his foot in his mouth and then shoving it so far down his throat that it would take a team of surgeons to remove it. He just can’t stop thinking about Martin, is the problem. "Besides,” he says, before he can think too hard about it, “I don't want…"

Tim cocks his head to the side, looks at Jon with those wide eyes. "What?"

Flushing hot and dark, Jon looks down at his hand on Tim’s waist. The guilt that’s been steadily gnawing away at him for weeks is acute now, and he feels as if to voice this qualm will be a breach of trust, somehow. Like kissing Martin was one thing, and having sex with Tim was another, but to discuss the complicated situation aloud with Tim when he hasn’t even been able to bring himself to talk to Martin about it yet – that feels wrong.

"Never mind,” he murmurs, squeezing gently, his thumb pressing into the skin over Tim’s hipbone.

"No, Jon, you can't do that to me,” Tim groans miserably, shifting against Jon in a way that makes his stomach stir. “Tell me what's going through that pretty head of yours."

Jon rolls his eyes at the endearment, but bites his lip nervously before replying. "I don't want to – to get in the middle of things. With you and… erm. You and Martin."

A surprised grunt escapes Tim at the mention of Martin’s name, followed by a heavy, tired sigh. "Christ, Jon, it's not like we're dating,” he laughs, all fondness and comfort. “I mean… obviously, if you don't want this to continue, I'm not going to pressure you. But there are no issues on my end, or on Martin's, if you'd like to do it again sometime. Not saying you _have_ to change your mind. Just, if you do – let me know, yeah?"

"You'll be the first person I tell,” Jon promises with a similar breezy chuckle. He nudges lightly at the side of Tim’s thigh, a touch that could almost be interpreted as a pat on his ass, prompting him to slide off of Jon’s lap, graceful as a cat.

"Good,” Tim says, sounding defiant and righteous, starting to gather his clothes and dress himself as he talks. “Wouldn't want you running off and telling Sasha how bad you want me. She gets enough of that already."

"I’m sure she does," says Jon, shaking his head in mock sympathy, before he sobers up to smile at Tim, soft and sincere. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"Anytime," Tim answers with a lopsided grin. "What are friends for?"


End file.
